


Present Tense

by saintdoriangray



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Panic Attack, minor character death (off-screen)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintdoriangray/pseuds/saintdoriangray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't really know where he was--some Super 8 between Fresno and Bakersfield, probably--and he was tired as shit. He didn't even notice the sleek black Camaro pulling into the driveway until it was barreling towards him at a good 40 mph. Any other car and he would've jumped out of the way, but, really, he was just <i>begging</i> for the driver to hit him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Present Tense

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my HomeBro-Alpaca, [Allana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/maiavalentine), for beta-ing for me. This would sound much worse without her. So. Much. Worse.

Stiles doesn't know whether or not it's right to be called an orphan when you've just barely turned eighteen and both your parents are dead.

Maybe he'll ask Jackson later. He's lost four of them.

If Beacon Hills had thought the Alpha pack was vicious, they were nothing on Old Blood, on packs established hundreds of years ago, when the land was still new and the people feared old spirits and monsters lurking in the woods. Beacon Hills--at least, what's left of it--still fears old spirits and monsters lurking in the woods, but that's because it knows at the bottom of its heart that these things are real.

The Old Blood weren't looking for a war, they were looking to put a child in its place.

The Beacon Hills pack had grown too cocky. _Stiles_ had grown too cocky, thinking that with the Bestiary and Dr. Deaton's knowledge and Lydia's immunity that they'd be invincible. They'd be miraculous. They could save the world.

They couldn't save Jackson's parents. They couldn't save Boyd's little sister. And no amount of voodoo could save the meat and bones left of the Sheriff.

Derek had begged him to stay. Jackson had stayed and Erica and Boyd had stayed and Isaac and Scott and Allison and Lydia stayed, and why couldn't Stiles see how badly they needed to stick together? The pack would be weaker without him.

"Without you, they could _die_ , Stiles. Our pack could die."

"And they'd be better off for it." Stiles loaded his Jeep and drove off, leaving an empty two story house filled with broken picture frames and ripped upholstery behind him.

\--------------------------------

It was a complete accident.

Okay it wasn't really an accident. It was stupid, that's what it was.

He was taking a shipment of God Knows What from Eugene down to LA. He swore if he didn't receive his W-2s every year, he'd probably think he was trafficking drugs or illegal arms or something. (He won't say it. He won't fucking say it-- "If Dad could see me now.") Normally, he'd detour off 5 to 44 after the state line just to avoid... that whole mess of _everything_... but the boss-man had been checking his mileage and Stiles got chewed out for wasting diesel on a dumbass crusade to avoid his problems like the little pussy shit he is.

His boss wasn't a very nice man, but it was a small company and he understood the need to keep moving. Literally. He had RLS.

But Stiles had been driving for 11 hours straight and it was 3 AM and he couldn't afford to not make a rest stop. He was cranky, he needed to poop, and he'd left his tattoo lotion at the bottom of his duffel bag. He knew he shouldn't have gotten that piece done so soon before another drive, but it was important. Protection was important.

He didn't really know where he was--some Super 8 between Fresno and Bakersfield, probably--and he was tired as shit. He didn't even notice the sleek black Camaro pulling into the driveway until it was barreling towards him at a good 40 mph. Any other car and he would've jumped out of the way, but, really, he was just _begging_ for the driver to hit him.

As the car screeched to a halt mere inches in front of his legs, Stiles wondered if denting Derek's car would feel as satisfying as Derek hitting him.

He was expecting the car to reverse and drive off to another Super 8 or for Derek to pull up around him and glare at him through the window or for any number of things that would leave him maimed and bloody and butthurt. He wasn't expecting for Isaac to tumble out of the Camaro and latch on to him for dear life.

Isaac buried his face in Stiles' stomach and ran his hands over Stiles' chest and back. He tugged at Stiles' hoodie and Stiles willingly lowered himself down to Isaac's level, completely in shock that Isaac was still _scent-marking_ him.

Stiles pretended not to notice that the driver's side door hadn't opened the whole time.

Isaac was sobbing into his shoulder and all Stiles could do was awkwardly pat at his back and say, "Yes. Hi. I know. It's... been a while. But you need to get up. We're starting to attract attention. Isaac. Yes, I know."

Stiles lifted them both up, thankful Isaac was still mostly skin and bones. He waltzed Isaac back to Derek's car, loosening his grip on the still sobbing werewolf. The door unlocked and Stiles didn't bother looking inside as he pushed Isaac out of his space and back into Derek's.

He could check into another Super-8, drive off angrily for another half hour and find a different stop, but he wouldn't give Derek the benefit of his anger. He'd fucking stick it out. It didn't matter that he'd totally and completely regret this in the morning.

Yeah.

\--------------------------------

Stiles rubbed the fluffy towel all along his body, bitching in the lovely afterglow of the most awkward lukewarm shower known to man. Stiles knew he should be used to the tattoo aftercare routine by now, but that didn't mean he didn't miss scalding hot showers like a bitch. He was just about to slink under the covers and get a full 8 of shut-eye when there was a knock at his door.

It wasn't the one-two-announcement of house cleaning or the thump of local authorities. It was soft and light and continuous. Stiles immediately thought of a chihuahua and tried not to smile. Isaac was always his favorite. After Scott. And Erica. And Boyd. And okay even Jackson, at the end, was his favorite too.

Yeah, at the end.

He slipped into his boxers and prepared for the oncoming fluffball storm that was Isaac Lahey.

When he opened the door, Isaac let out a whine and dove into a hug. Stiles knew that all he could do with Isaac in this state was just let him be. So, Stiles let Isaac breathe in deep, and he relaxed his hold in preparation for more body rubs. It wouldn't help him any if he was tense the whole time.

But Isaac froze and Stiles stepped back. "Isaac, what's wrong?"

Isaac started to whimper and clawed at Stiles' chest and arms. "Y-you t-took a shower." Isaac sprinted over to Stiles' suitcase and tore apart its contents. Isaac gathered as many of Stiles' t-shirts and jeans and hoodies and beanies as his arms could hold. "S'not..." Isaac sprinted back to Stiles and thrust the contents of his arms into Stiles' chest. Isaac grabbed one of Stiles' arms and Stiles winced as Isaac started forcing his arm into one of the shirt sleeves. "You took a _shower_ ," Isaac whined again.

Stiles slowed down his breath and tried to pry Isaac's fingers off of his arm. He didn't want to scare Isaac. He just wanted his left arm back so he could cast the right spell, but Isaac kept dragging Stiles around the room to his things and crying into Stiles' arms, "You took a _shower_. You took a _shower_. It's not _you_. You took a _shower_." 

Isaac's cries got louder with every passing second and Stiles had just seconds before someone called management. He could see Isaac's eyes starting to glow blue and the fingers digging into his forearm were starting to draw blood. If he was going to get out of this, he had to get out of it now.

Stiles stopped resisting Isaac's grip and relaxed. "Shh, Isaac. It's okay. We're okay." He slipped on the rest of the shirt and let the bundle of clothes in his arms drop to the floor.

Isaac's eyes softened and dulled away from their panic and Stiles took the moment to force his left hand to Isaac's temple and his right thumb to the icon of St. Anastasia on his left arm. " _Иди спать, Айсаак._ "

Isaac fell to the ground in the middle of the pile of Stiles' clothes and Stiles stepped back in relief. He wiped the sweat from his brow and put on a clean pair of jeans. The spell would last for at least a few hours, and Stiles needed that time to go through Isaac's phone to find Derek's number.

His phone was password protected, but Isaac was a creature of habit, and Stiles had known his password for years. He flipped through the contacts, "Captain, Teddy Bear, Snooki, Joanna," and there was Derek, "Rachel Tice."

It was an in-joke between the three of them--Isaac, Derek, and Stiles. Derek had marathoned Gossip Girl with Isaac, and in the same week Stiles had introduced Isaac to the Most Popular Girls in School. He'd almost forgotten that he'd had the same name for Derek in his old phone--the one that's been dead for two years at the bottom of his duffel bag.

Stiles dialed the number and at Derek's muffled, "'Lo?" it was clear that he was sleeping when Isaac snuck out to Stiles' room. 

"Room 108," Stiles said curtly. He didn't want to have to deal with Derek any longer than necessary. "Door's open."

"Isaac," was Derek's reply, as equally curt as Stiles had been. "107. I'm there already."

Stiles had barely hung up before Derek showed up in his room, fully dressed in his usual leather jacket and jeans. Or at least, what Stiles had known as his usual.

Two years and Derek still hadn't changed. That didn't spell anything good for Isaac or for the rest of Beacon Hills.

Stiles had barely opened his mouth before Derek spoke. He just started explaining, like Derek somehow owed something to him. 

"I'm taking him to a healer down in Oceanside. We'll be fine."

Stiles scoffed and knelt in front of Isaac. He brushed back Isaac's curls and wiped a stray tear from his cheek. "Does this _look_ fine to you, Derek? How long has this been going on?"

"What does it matter to you?" Derek hauled Stiles up and away from his beta, "You left! You left and Scott got hurt and Allison had a miscarriage and Lydia is on Effexor and my family is _dying_. You fucking left and you don't fucking get a say in this anymore."

Stiles pulled Derek out into the hallway and shut the door. "My parents are _dead_. They killed my _Dad_."

"Yeah? You think you're alone, Batman? You asked for this. You asked to know how to save the world and I fucking told you to keep your dumb ass out of the fight. I fucking told you to keep your own safe, and you--"

"You are my own!" Stiles ground his teeth, "Were my own. Fuck--"

Derek shoved him into the opposite wall and smashed his lips against Stiles'. They were rough and chapped from the drive, but Stiles opened his mouth anyways and traced his tongue over Derek's lips to wet them. 

"Are. Fucking are. I'm your own, you stupid fucking asshole." Derek nipped at his jawline and pressed his body completely against Stiles, "I need--needed you to keep me safe, too."

Stiles shoved Derek off and he crashed into the door to 107. Stiles ran his hands along the front of Derek's jeans and in and out of his pockets before grabbing the keycard. "I fucking hate you." He ran his hands down Derek's shirt and gripped Derek's hips.

Derek whined and grinded himself harder against Stiles, even as the door fell open behind him, "I fucking needed you."

Stiles kicked the door shut and walked them both over to the already rumpled bed. 

Derek latched on to him and pulled them both down onto the mattress. "I fucking needed you and you fucking left me." 

There was no need for Stiles to take a deep breath and go in for the plunge. It was Derek's lips and Derek's hips and Derek's cock pressing a hard line through his jeans. It was Derek sliding a hand under Stiles' boxers and frantically pulling them off. It was Derek's hands and teeth marking Stiles' neck and collarbones and thighs with bruises and Stiles was already drowning.

\------

Derek laughed and brushed a nasty bit of dried cum from Stiles' face. He nosed Stiles' shoulder and breathed in so deep, Stiles could swear he'd sucked all the oxygen from the room--or maybe that was just the breath he didn't know he was holding. Or maybe it was just his heart stopping because he hadn't had _this_ in so long. Whatever this was.

Whatever _this_ could've been.

"Come back with me," Derek whispered, like he didn't want to admit that he was saying it at all.

Stiles turned around to press a small kiss to Derek's chest, "I have to get this truck to LA."

"Come back with me after," Derek insisted.

"I have to get the truck back to Eugene."

"And after that?"

Stiles didn't care that Derek could tell from his heartbeat that he wasn't sleeping. If Stiles had promised anything in that moment, Derek would be able to tell that it was a lie. Back in Beacon Hills, Stiles could have promised Derek the moon and Derek wouldn't hear a single blip in his heartbeat.

Now, Stiles could only say goodnight.

\--------------------------------

Derek blinked his eyes open and rolled over into the still-warm empty space next to him. He buried his face into the pillows and wrapped himself in the sheets. The bright So-Cal sun warmed his bare shoulders and his now covered back and he felt content.

He grinned. He was _content_.

It felt good to genuinely grin.

The grin exploded into a full out smile when he spotted the piece of paper with a number scrawled on it--a number he'd memorized long ago and never bothered to forget.

He grabbed his cellphone and dialed.

And for the first time in two years, the phone rang.


End file.
